


The Fire Burns White

by Writingfangirlforhire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Isaac Lahey, Bisexual Derek Hale, Canon Compliant, Double Life, Friends to Lovers, Gay Jackson Whittemore, Gay Stiles, Grey-Asexual Isaac Lahey, Homoromantic Isaac Lahey, M/M, Magic, Magic Stiles, Pansexual Scott McCall, Possibly Future Smut, Secrets, Slow Burn, Stiles-centric, Witchcraft, after all that effort, enjoy bitch, i have to give you something for your money, oh wait.... you didn't really pay for this, so have a smile i guess :), that sorta shit, this is where the tags get humorous, to keep them professional, witch Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:22:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8336251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writingfangirlforhire/pseuds/Writingfangirlforhire
Summary: Stiles is living a double life, one as a powerful witch that saves others supernatural/magical beings, and one as a normal, puny human that runs with werewolves. He wonders where the life where everything makes sense and goes well for him is and how he can live that one instead. But its not all bad, he still has his dad, he still plays lacrosse, his grades are still high, he still has Scott and the pack, and Derek Hale. He supposes that, if you ignore the bruises, and broken bones, and bleeding, and pain, and scratches, and having friends that can constantly tell your emotional state and if your lying, or jerking off, that his life is actually pretty nice. Or at least the one he lives that all his friends know about. That's ignoring the one where he's a powerful witch.Derek Hale just wants the best thing for his pack and to not have to deal with this shit. I mean honestly, is that really too much to ask for? I mean, the next thing you know, puny, skinny, defenseless Stiles will have something come after him.





	1. I can say with complete honesty that there is nothing that it's absolutely necessary that you are aware of on a personal level

Stiles Stilinski cocked his head at the beasts surrounding him. Their emaciated forms were hidden partially by the shadows of the tree line, the moonlight lit up their white eyes. The antlers hanging sticking out of their skulls glinted in the moonlight. They watched his movements with a hunger, the everlasting growl of their stomachs vibrated through the airwaves that reached Stiles. Their hunger, their everlasting punishment for breaking the ultimate of nature's laws of balance.

The Wendigo, an ancient Native American creature, had become a growing problem for Stiles Stilinski. To become a Wendigo was the punishment for those who commit the crime of cannibalism, unforgivable by supernatural forces. Exceptions being for Vampires and Werewolves and Zombies, seeing as they are no longer technically “human” and/or “alive”. But the 8 Wendigo surrounding Stiles were 8 of 20 survivors of a plane crash in the middle of a national park in winter. The park rangers didn't make it to them before they'd resorted to eating the dead.

The 8 ended up killing 7 of the human 12, as they quickly turned into Wendigo. They then disappeared, traveling down to Oregon and then to the Colorado Mountains. Which was where Stiles was currently facing them off, having received a request from a banshee colony in the mountains to take care of the situation.

He started tapping his finger to draw the Wendigos' attention. Their gaze snapped to his appendage and they all started preparing to attack, taking various positions like cats ready to pounce. The ring of trees around him started to wave in the new, heavy wind. Leaves and pine needles started flying around in the moonlight, drawing the attention of the 8. They started getting restless and their heads whipped from side to side, distracted the leaves.

With minimal movement, Stiles pulled a silver sword out of the sheath on his hip and lit it with a hot white fire. Most of the Wendigo were still confused by the leaves, but a couple readied to attack.

Stiles crouched, sword in a defensive position. The first Wendigo jumped towards him and Stiles thrust his sword up through the Wendigo's prominent ribcage, piercing the heart. As that Wendigo went up in white flames, Stiles pushed it back towards the slowly focusing ones and turned to face the second one.

The trees groaned in effort and started to lash out, grabbing the Wendigo that was reviving faster than others. The monsters were pulled back into the grasp of branches. Even the sky seemed to help Stiles as all clouds disappeared with the wind. Stiles alabaster skin seemed to glow like the moon itself and the light off of his sword's fire accentuated the angles and shadows on his face, making him seem almost as skeletal as the Wendigo he was fighting.

Stiles ducked under the leap that the Wendigo made at him and slashed his sword backwards, catching the monster in the back. Considering that the monster was all skeleton in skin, Stiles easily cut through to the spine, breaking it with little effort.

As the Wendigo started to claw and break their way out of the hold of the tree's and jump at Stiles all at once, Stiles pushed his hand towards them and his hand exploded a white light that pulsed through the whole forest and caused the Wendigo to claw at themselves in pain.

In a rampage melee, Stiles sliced and burned through every Wendigo, all of them dying slowly of being pierced through the heart and caught on fire. His black and red cape fluttered to a stop behind him, the red on the cape glowed like hot coals.

The clouds blew back in front of the moon now and the wind died, the trees settled and Stiles's skin now looked red and greyish, as the only thing lighting him was the fires burning in the dying Wendigo and his cape. He took a powder from out of a pouch on his belt and scattered it around the tree line as a thank you to the trees for their assistance. Then he took out a paper and, from the light of the fires, wrote a note to the banshee's colony leader about how he finished his business. He signed it, The White Fire Witch.

After looking around, he looked back down to his cape, the red coal burning look had turned to white again and he nodded before looking back at the note. He flipped it casually in the wind and it caught on fire before disappearing. Then he took the corner of his now black and white cape and flipped it across his chest, the inside white of the cape enveloped him and he was transported through it.

He appeared in the middle of the Reserve and smiled to himself. Another busy night and still plenty of time to finish his report on the goddess Kali. He started the walk to his house mentally writing about all he knew on Kali and then mentally editing it down to 8 pages maximum. He hoped he'd get it down to maybe 7 pages this time.

He smiled up at the moon, which was not quite as high as it had been in Colorado, as he walked home.

* * *

 

 

Stiles felt his head being pushed down, kinda like you would if you were an observer and not a participant, in an out of body sort of way. But he _did_ feel like a participant when his forehead hit the steering wheel. _Jesus_ that smarted.

“Ow! Jesus! What was that for?” Stiles turned in the drivers seat of Roscoe to look in the back seat, where Derek Hale and ( _what the fuck_ ) Jackson Whittemore were sitting. “What the hell dude?”

“You were falling asleep,” Jackson crossed his arms, as if he was the one who'd hit Stiles head on the steering wheel. But it wasn't Jackson who'd done it. Stiles glared at Derek.

“You know, Sourwolf, someone must have pissed on your tree or something,” Stiles rubbed his forehead, feeling under appreciated. “Your panties have been in a twist all evening and frankly I'm tired of your shit. Also, when did Jackson somehow get in my jeep?”

“When you were asleep,” Isaac mumbled from the passenger seat where he was reading. In the dark. Goddamn werewolf eyesight.

“You know what, fuck you Isaac,” Stiles snarled at the young beta. He turned to face out the window and tried to push the thought of burning them all, just a little bit, out of his mind. He'd been staring (read: glaring) out the window for all of five seconds of silence before Derek finally spoke up.

“You need to go inside now,” Derek said, his tone laced with patronizing, irritated, patience.

“Jesus christ,” Stiles cursed before opening the car door, “you couldn't have just said that in the first place?” Stiles got out of the car before anyone could say anything else. He didn't slam the door, no matter how satisfying that would have been, there was a reason that he and three werewolves were staking out in his jeep.

He walked across the police station and realized that his dad's cruiser was no longer parked there; that must have been the cause of his rude awakening, his dad had finally left. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his dark blue sweatshirt and walked across the parking lot. The moon was high now and Stiles hated every second of this.

He walked into the police station and up to the front desk. The front desk worker's name was Lisa, and she'd been there a while. Long enough to have known Claudia. Lisa was a nice looking, 50 something, lesbian, with wrinkles from her smile.

“Hey Lisa,” Stiles greeted her, walking up and tapping the heel of his palm on the front desk. He felt a bit fidgety. “Is dad in? I need to talk with him about something.”

“Hi Stiles, no your dad just left,” Lisa smiled at him before looking at the clock, her eyebrows furrowed, “Why are you here at 12:20 at night?”

“Crap,” Stiles fake groaned, “So he's not here? Dammit, I had just gotten up the nerve too.” Stiles hit his hand on the desk as if in frustration. “Sorry about wasting your time,” Stiles turned to leave.

“What did you need to get up the nerve to talk to him about?” Lisa asked, care showing in her voice. Stiles looked back at her.

“Oh its nothing. Not important. I mean obviously not important enough that I could talk to him about it without having to argue with myself about it for hours,” Stiles smiled softly and he could see the gears turning in Lisa's head. He wondered what she was thinking of and decided to prompt her a bit more, “I mean, I guess it's kinda important, I just was kinda scared to bring it up. I mean, usually he's pretty chill about stuff like that but... I don't know, you always wonder if it'll be different for you right?” Stiles started rambling.

“Oh Stiles!” Lisa suddenly cooed, “I'm so proud of you!” She clasped her hands in front of her mouth, a smile obvious on her face, “It takes so much courage to finally come out. I knew it!”

Oh. Ohhh..... Stiles's face flickered with confusion.

“But how did-”

“Oh trust me honey, people like us just have that kind of intuition. So did you realize you were gay because one of your friends or have you always known?” Lisa leaned on the desk, eager for information.

Stiles stuttered, flustered. “I.... it's a.... I kinda just realized it, ya know?” he stuttered out. Lisa smiled sympathetically.

“There's no reason to be embarrassed Stiles,” She said calmly, “Was it Scott? Or what about that handsome boy your age, Jackson is it?” Stiles shook his head.

“Neither,” he mumbled.

“It better not have been that Derek Hale,” Lisa said sternly, “I'll admit he's extremely attractive- even a lesbian can admit that- but he's much too old for you, not to mention that he was suspected for murder. And he never smiles either!”

“I-” Stiles started to interject.

“I don't know why you and your friends hang out with him.”

“He's got money,” Stiles finally interrupted, “and its kinda like a challenge, ya know? See if you can make the Sour wolf smile.”

Lisa grinned, “Alright, just don't get into trouble with him alright. And good luck with your father!”

“Yeah....” Stiles's smile died, “If I even end up telling him.” Lisa frowned.

“What do you mean?” She asked, leaning forward, troubled.

“I just... it took me so long to get my courage up and come here and.... I guess now if I go home I'll lose my courage,” Stiles said with fake sadness. Lisa pursed her lips and backed up to look at her computer.

“Well.... It looks like your father will be back in about a half an hour or so if you want to wait for him,” Lisa said softly.

“Can I wait in his office maybe?” Stiles smiled at her hopefully, “I just... I need some time to compose myself ya know?” Lisa smiled at him and nodded.

“Go ahead, I won't tell him your there if you don't want me too,” She offered. Stiles grinned as if in relief.

“Thank you so much, and if I leave.... could you not bring it up to him?”

“Sure Stiles, go on back hon.”

Stiles waved good bye and started to walk towards the back, to his dads office. “You guys will never let me live that down will you?” He muttered as he strode back.

As soon as he was in the office he closed the blinds to give himself some privacy. He started to open his fathers desk and he pulled out a file.

“Got it,” He grinned wickedly.

* * *

 

 

“Stilinski!” Coach yelled at him, Stiles rolled his neck and looked up at him. Stiles was sitting on the bench, cradling his side. It hadn't started hurting till on the way home from the police station last night.

“Yes Coach?” he said tiredly. Coach looked him up and down.

“You look like shit. What have you been up to now?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“I fell out of my bed last night, landed on some books and I think I bruised my ribs up really bad,” Stiles said, the coach squinted his eyes and turned away.

“Put some ice on it.” He walked away. Stiles watched the rest of the lacrosse team as they were running drills. Isaac, Jackson, and Scott kept giving Stiles weird looks, especially when the Coach walked away without making Stiles return to drills.

Stiles stood and made his way back into the school and into the locker room. He found a mirror and lifted his jersey. A huge bruise had blossomed in dark, dark colors, over his whole lower right ribcage. Stiles's eyebrows furrowed as he touched it gently. He hissed in pain.

“Stiles?” Scott walked in and Stiles dropped his jersey. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I must have taken a hit to the ribs,” Stiles said, not exactly lying, “I'll be fine.”

He could see Scott listening to his heartbeat. Scott watched Stiles's side like that would give him the answers. Finally Scott, looked up into Stiles's eyes. “Okay... You just seem tired, and then Coach let you leave... I was worried.”

“I'm fine Scott,” Stiles smiled, “Nothing a puny human like me can't handle.” Scott chuckled a tiny bit and made to leave again.

“Alright. Isaac and Jackson seemed a bit off today too, so I wondered whether you knew what was up with them too?”

“Maybe they're agitated because of the moon?” Stiles offered lamely, Scott had to have heard the blip in his heart beat because Scott jerked back to look at him.

“Is there something I should know?” He started walking back to Stiles.

“I can say with complete honesty that there is nothing that it's absolutely necessary that you are aware of on a personal level,” Stiles said, he felt a sharp pain in his ribs when he shifted his position but he didn't show it on his face. Scott's eyebrows furrowed deeply and he pursed his lips contemplatively.

“So there's something that you can't tell me,” He finally interpreted, looking up at Stiles with puppy eyes.

“Don't be like that, dude,” Stiles walked forward, ignoring the pain with a grin plastered on his face, he hit Scott's shoulder as he headed to go back out to the Lacrosse field, “Maybe I'll tell you when you're older.”

“Stiles.... does Derek know at least?” Scott asked when Stiles had nearly made it to the door.

“Coach is going to get mad if we aren't back on the field in 30 seconds Scotty!” Stiles walked out the door, leaving Scott to interpret his reply however he chose.

Scott trotted out after him and they returned to practice. Stiles didn't sit back on the bench, instead going to do the new drills Coach was starting.

They started running some plays after a while, Stiles seemed hyper-focused, like he was trying to ignore something else. So hyper-focused that he was distracted. It caught Jackson's attention, who was playing on the other practice team. So he decided to take Stiles down to catch his attention.

When he did, he heard the bone crunching up close, but by the way that Isaac and Scott rushed to his and Stiles's side, they heard it well enough as well. Stiles's eyes flew wide and he gasped as if he couldn't breath.

“Stiles?” Jackson got off of him and cupped the back of Stiles head, “Are you okay?”

“Ribs,” Scott said simply, pulling up Stiles's jersey to check the ribs. “Jesus,” He muttered under his breath when he saw the bruise.

“What the fuck?” Isaac growled.

“What are you doing!?” Coach stomped over through the growing crowd and cursed as soon as he saw. “He said he'd just fallen on some books!”

“I heard a crack Coach,” Jackson reported, “Should we take him to the hospital?”

“I'm fine,” Stiles finally spoke up, “I don't think they're broken.” He sat up slowly and smiled, pain barely visible in his eyes, “Maybe I should just sit out for the rest of practice? Since my ribs are bruised you know?”

“Stiles your ribs are a bit more than-” Jackson started to argue. But Stiles shook his head and started to push himself into a standing position.

“Yeah, now my back is bruised too,” Stiles scoffed, standing up, “Good job Whittemore.”

Stiles started walking out of the circle of boys, heading for the benches. Except that he wasn't exactly.... walking per say.

Scott and Isaac exchanged glances with varying form of worry.

Someone should probably tell Derek.

* * *

 

Stiles was laying on his bed, an herbal healin salve on his ribs. He was nearly asleep too, but he was awoken by a bright flash of light. He looked over at his alarm clock with a groan. It was nearly 2 am and he was receiving a message _now_?

He sat up slowly and saw, hovering over an open herbology book, was an envelope lined with golden silver fire. He sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His bare feet hit the cold wood floor and he felt a shiver run up his body. The house energy felt lukewarm, Stiles guessed that it was probably his fault, he wasn't powering it much.

When he finally made it over to the letter and snatched out of its flame, it was apparent that his ribs were not yet healed from their shattering. Yes, shattering. When he'd fought the 8 Wendigo, Stiles must have gotten hit and not realized it. Although he didn't know how he hadn't noticed it before Lacrosse practice, his magic must have kept it contained until he started putting strain on it. And now he was still in significant pain, despite there only being minor breakage now.

He opened the envelope and pulled out the very nice stationary.

 

_By the will of the gods and goddesses, the Moon, Stars, and Sun,_

_By the energy of the Earth itself, and the power given,_

_To Nature's Blessed, and the Chosen One of the Sparks,_

_The White Fire Witch_

_I normally would not write you unless under extreme duress, as I write you from now. The duress I am under, however, is not of a hostile force. In fact, it is the rest of the Coven leaders that have me under duress to resume communication with yourself. You see, our numbers are continuously getting lower and lower as members of our Coven are killed off by a recent threat._

_There is an alpha werewolf in our area which is consistently hunting the witches of our Coven. We believe its intentions to be to wipe out our Coven and take our territory for its pack. As we are witches of practice an learning, or very little natural magic, we are not powerful enough to banish it or kill it. Our hexes and curses do not seem to be affecting it and as there is a low moon tonight there is not much we can do._

_I personally would desire to find a different path, to save our Coven, then asking any more of you; considering all you have already done for us. However, the Coven leaders do not believe there to be anything more that we can do. As a spark, your naturally gifted magic makes you more powerful than the learned magic of the entire Coven thrice over._

_Would you be willing to answer are call in the time of our distress?_

_By the will of the craft,_

_Sincerest,_

_Your eternal servant and student,_

_Icathiana, Priestess of Communication and Divination of the Coven of Ketchiken, Alaska._

 

Stiles sighed and partially limped over to the closet. He pulled out a simple black hoodie and a box of supplies. First he took the supplies to his desk and pulled out a bandage wrap. He wrapped up his abdomen to give his ribs support while they heal. Then he took out various crystal necklaces, which he hung around his neck and could feel his energy restoring. He grabbed the sword from the night before and put it on the desk. Next he pulled out a pair of deer hide pants and wrestled into them. He put his sword on his belt and grabbed a couple of pouches of various herbal and magical supplies and tied those to his belt as well. Finally he grabbed the hoodie and pulled it on. He took a piece of paper and wrote on it.

 

_On my way._

* * *

 

 

Stiles slashed his on fire sword at the Alpha, it growled at him as the blade struck it in the chest. The fire caught his fur on fire but the Alpha still tried to attack Stiles. Stiles ducked claws and stabbed under, using his magic to heighten the magical flame on his sword. It stuck in the werewolf's right breast.

 _“Novi te maledictionem, Ut amittere vires,Benedicta tu iam Luna, Iam non immortalis!_ ” Stiles yelled in Latin as the werewolf tried to claw through his burning red and black cape. 

With a howl a burning red light left the body of the werewolf, it raced away, towards the night sky. The beast with Stiles's sword in his chest was now human, and the human cried in pain and collapsed against Stiles. Stiles pulled his sword out of the man and frowned at him.

“I'm sorry, but this is what happens when you attack Coven's.” Stiles kneeled next to the man and put his hand on the gasping man's cheek, “ _Auferam finire dolorem dolori, Corpus tuum et animam donavi pretium tellus. Anima tua reddam tibi dono pretium Luna, Ut det vobis Elysium Hades._ ” Stiles said in Latin. The man's eyes soften as Stiles took the pain away from him.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered before dying. Stiles closed the corpse's eyes and lit the body on fire before standing.

This night, Stiles didn't write a letter. He just enveloped himself in fire and transported himself back to his bedroom.

Stiles never transported into his home, but he was too exhausted to walk home. The house, and the sigils throughout it, drew his excess energy as soon as he finished materializing. Stiles sighed in relief and had barely gotten his cloak, now turned hoodie, and sword and pouches off before turning to his bed and collapsing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Enjoy!  
> Here's a rough version of the Latin to English translations in chapter 1:  
> I know your curse, To lose strength, Blessed art thou now Luna, He is no longer immortal.  
> and then:  
> To limit the pain away, It is your body, and the soul is the given price of the product. Your human soul I will give you, the price of the Moon, for Hades to give you Elysium.


	2. Since When Do You Speak Spanish?

“What the fuck happened to you?!” Jackson was the first one to see Stiles when Stiles walked into the loft. Everyone turns to look at Stiles and showed various forms of disbelief. Scott stood up in shock. Isaac's jaw dropped open. Erica's eyebrows trekked up to her hairline. Boyd just made a face. But Derek strode right over and slammed Stiles against the newly closed door.

“What the _hell_ is going on with you? Normally I wouldn't care. Normally I'd ignore it, just believe that you were being clumsy or something. But Jackson said your ribs broke from a simple tackle, and now you walk into the loft 2 hours late for the pack meeting and with a huge bruise and cut on your face. You smell exhausted,” Derek growled at Stiles.

The most concerning part was how Stiles yawned in response first, “I fell in the shower,” Stiles said. Derek listened to Stiles heart and waited for it to blip. It didn't. He released Stiles's hoodie and backed away.

“And your ribs?”

“I don't know, I guess I'm not drinking enough milk,” Stiles shrugged. There were bags under his eyes, or at least where there wasn't a huge bruise and cut coloring his entire left cheek.

“Where were you last night?” Scott finally asked, “I went over to your house and you weren't there.”

“Alaska, Scott,” Stiles said, sarcasm heavy on his voice, “I was in goddamn Alaska. What is this? Grill Stiles day? Jesus, even my dad was on me for sleeping late.”

“It's 5 o'clock Stiles,” Jackson said, “When did you get up?”

Stiles thought it through. “I don't know, Like an hour ago?”

“So when did you shower and fall so that the bruise would be that color already?” Jackson stood up and walked over to Stiles nearly crowding Derek out of the way. Jackson inspected Stiles's cut more closely, “As the most recently turned werewolf, I _know_ how long it takes for bruises to get to that color. If you woke up an hour ago then you should have been asleep several hours when you got that bruise.” Everyone looked at Stiles expectantly and a low growl in Derek's throat had Jackson taking a half a step to the side of Stiles.

“I showered before I went to sleep and I was too tired to go put ice on it,” Stiles rolled his eyes, “Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Why are you lying?” Scott stood up, “Stiles why are you lying to us?”

“Maybe because I don't need to account for all of my actions with the goddamn Paw Patrol,” Stiles snapped sarcastically, “Why don't you guys mind your own goddamn business for once? I'm tired, I just woke up an hour ago and got chewed out by my dad. But other wise I'm fine so leave me alone.”

The only immediate reaction was Jackson all of a sudden striking Stiles in the side. Not very hard, but still. Stiles jerked away as pain, not that much, made him aware that he wasn't fully healed.

“That should have hurt you more than that,” Jackson growled before shoving Stiles's shoulder against the wall and pulling up his sweatshirt and shirt to reveal his ribs. Stiles jerked against the pressure on his shoulder, he was sore there and very uncomfortable with what Jackson was doing.

“Let me go Jackson!” Stiles jerked and started hitting Jackson with his fist. It didn't seem like anyone was going to do anything and Jackson pulled away shook his head.

“Your ribs aren't broken,” He said, confused.

“Yeah? And you just, like, molested me or something,” Stiles pulled his shirt down and looked at Jackson with disgust, “I told you that my ribs were fine.”

“Stiles, I broke your ribs. I know what broken ribs look sound like,” Jackson insisted, “Not only that, but your heart rate changed when you told us that your ribs weren't broken, signifying that you were lying.”

“It hurt, maybe I subconsciously believed that they really were,” Stiles explained, “But they aren't broken.”

He could tell that they were all listening to his heartbeat. Stiles sighed heavily and turned away.

“You know what? I think that I need to tap out. You all seem a little on edge, and I'm tired of dealing with this shit. I'm gonna go home and finish homework. You all can have your pack meeting and talk about how you need to be less nosy and need to trust me more and about why ever the fuck I would lie to you about this bullshit.” Stiles turned to the door and started to leave.

“Just tell me that you're okay,” Scott finally spoke up. “Look me in the eye and tell me you're okay and I'll back off.”

Stiles turned around to Scott and looked him in the eye, “I'm always okay Scotty.” Stiles turned and left. Leaving a mostly silent pack in his wake.

Derek turned back to the pack, “I think we all need to talk.”

* * *

 

 

Stiles was walking through halls of the Elven Kingdom in the Black Forest in Germany. The Elves had hired Stiles to, monthly, strengthen the invisibility spell over their citadel and lands several years ago. This month, Stiles came ahead of schedule because he needed to get out of Beacon Hills. So he transported across the world to Germany. The setting moon filtered through the leaves into the beautiful open-to-nature hallways. Stiles took a deep breath and pulled himself up onto the half wall that was in between two tree pillars. All the supports for the outer hallways for the citadel were still alive trees that were enchanted to never grow in a way to cause shifts in foundation.

Stiles sat on the outer wall and looked up at the moon.

“You seem sad, _Haldreithen_ ,” an elf that Stiles was familiar with leapt gracefully onto the wall and sat down next to Stiles.

“ _Tassarion_ ,” Stiles nodded his acknowledgement.

“Your energy is not as white as it once was, friend,” Tassarion was sitting on a wall, that was only 10 inches wide, in a butterfly position. Only an elf.

“I've been rather busy,” Stiles admitted, “And I've had to kill several creatures lately. It puts a strain on the white energy of my magic.”

“Have you not purified yourself?”

“I haven't had the chance,” Stiles sighed, “I'm constantly going to do something and when I'm not doing something magical I've got a pack of werewolves that I'm hiding my magical nature from. It makes it difficult to perform a purifying ritual when you're constantly giving account of your actions to a bunch of lycanthropes.”

“Would you like to do a cleanse here?” Tassarion asked, concern on his face, “It is in no way as effective as a purifying ritual, but surely it would help. Or, I could ask the elders and see if they would allow you to perform a purifying ritual here.”

“I couldn't do that,” Stiles immediately argued, turning to his friend, who was even fairer skinned than Stiles himself, “It would pull so much energy from your cloaks and expel so much darkness. It would endanger the community.”

 _“Haldreithen,_ ” Tassarion smiled, “You've been protecting our lands for 6 years now, do you know why the citadel was built where it was in the way that it was?” Stiles shook his head before looking back out, through the tree limbs and leaves, to the stars. Tassarion smiled and looked out at the Stars himself. “Because this specific location is a location very strong in cleansing magic. One of our elven magicians desired a place where people of magic could come to find themselves in their purest forms. Our walls were not made to hide us, as your protection spell is doing for us, our walls were made to filter things that are impure from magic. It would be completely safe for you to perform a purification ritual here. I just need to ask the elders before allowing you use of our cleansing chamber and the items you would need for the ritual.”

Stiles sighed and looked over at the elf, opening his mouth.

“It will also take away the pain from your injuries, so that they would heal faster,” Tassarion added with a smile. Stiles closed his mouth and smiled down at his feet.

“Alright,” he said softly, “Please ask the elders. I have until the 2nd hour after daybreak before I need to be home.”

Tassarion smiled brightly and flipped himself backwards, landing on his feet of course, before running off to find the elders.

Stiles sighed and looked into the stars, he felt his magic drawn to their white light, aching to be like them. “ _Ad arrav dho kdulk dairk urkxlo nav ciokdaark,_ ” he muttered in the language of his people.

_If only the stars could answer my questions._

He rarely used that language, but the elves understand nearly every other language but Dwarvish and Kkulkish which is the language of the Sparks. Stiles was born speaking it. The doctors that his parents took him to thought that he might have a learning and speech impediment, making it hard for him to learn to speak, but they didn't know that he was actually just speaking another language. Stiles learned English really easily and prefers to speak it. But when he wants privacy from a people who can understand what he's saying in any other language, he reverts to Kkulkish.

Stiles watches the stars, listening to the noises of the forest below him and the sound of harp and flute music from farther inside the citadel. He scooted over to lean against a tree. He was exhausted.

Stiles fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Derek could not understand. He looked around Stiles bedroom without the faintest idea of what he was looking for. He'd come to apologize to Stiles, but Stiles was gone. It smelled a bit like fire in Stiles room, which Derek had never noticed before.

“What are you doing, son?” The Sheriff's voice said from behind Derek. Derek was broken from his confused contemplation by the surprise entrance of the Sheriff. He'd snuck up on him somehow.

“I'm looking for Stiles,” Derek admitted, “Do you know where I can find him?”

“Well, he and I had an argument this evening and then he stomped off to your loft. I haven't seen him since. I assumed he was with you and Scott,” Sheriff Stilinski said, eyebrows furrowing. Derek sighed heavily and looked around.

“He uh.... we said some things to him that made him angry,” Derek said, “And he left not long after he got there. He was pretty angry with us too.”

“He wouldn't tell me where he got that goddamn bruise that's taking up half his face,” Sheriff Stilinski said, “And he slept till four in the afternoon. I thought maybe he'd gotten beat up by somebody and wouldn't tell me who. It wasn't you was it?” The Sheriff's eyes squinted at Derek and his lip curled in suspicion. Part of Derek was angry at the Sheriff's suspicion, but then he remembered that his ledger wasn't exactly spotless.

“No sir,” Derek said, “I wanted to know where he got it too. He told us that he fell in the shower sir.” The Sheriff frowned and crossed his arms.

“So he's lying to both of us,” He mused. Derek cocked his head and opened his mouth to question what the Sheriff meant, but Sheriff Stilinski was already answering the question. “Because Stiles hadn't taken a shower today. So that leaves the question.... Why?”

* * *

 

When Stiles woke up, he was in a great chamber and he felt.... well he felt great. Greater than he had in a long time. He couldn't quite place why he felt so great until he saw the symbols and crystals and herbs surrounding him.

The elves must have performed the purification ritual on him while he was asleep. Stiles smiled and sat up. There was morning light filtering in through the glass doors all around the chamber. Standing, Stiles walked over to an east facing one and opened it. The sun shined on his face and Stiles grinned brightly.

He felt his actual age again. He felt light as a feather and his magic felt like it belonged in his body again.

“Ah, there you are _Haldreithen,_ ” an Elder walked up to him, “Do you feel well again?” The Elder extended a still young looking hand to Stiles. Stiles clasped it in his.

“I feel amazing. Thank you, Elder,” Stiles said cheerfully, “What hour is it?”

“Nearly the 3rd hour after dawn,” the Elder admitted, a partially guilty expression on his face, “I know that you wished to leave by the 2nd hour, but by the time we finished performing the ritual it was already dawn and we knew that we couldn't physically wake you until at least 2 hours had passed. We decided that we would wake you by half after the 3rd hour if you did not awake yourself.”

Stiles looked up at the sky and shrugged, deciding it wasn't that much of an issue.

“That's alright. I just have to go home now,” Stiles said, “Thanks, though.”

Stiles made his quick rounds and strengthened the shields even more. He sighed at the morning sky with a smile on his face before catching his shoes on fire. He watched the clouds as the fire spread up his legs.

* * *

 

 

Stiles appeared on the preserve and the very first thing he did was walk towards pack lands. It was dark in Beacon Hills now, but the moon was hidden by the clouds. Stiles walked onto Hale property and felt the change instantly. His senses were clouded, blocked almost. Stiles started panicking slightly. He couldn't tell if anything was around him and he couldn't use his magic on pack lands. It was a restriction he'd given himself, the only magic allowed on pack land was protection strengthening magic, which was what he was on his way to do.

Stiles slowed down and looked around him, trying to peer into the darkness with his normal eyesight. What was blocking his magical senses?

There was a sweet smell in the air and Stiles wondered what that was. He started walking and everything was starting to feel sluggish. Stiles turned and looked as he was walking, now walking backwards. There was nothing around him that he could see.

He flashed his eyes golden, breaking his restriction, so that he could sense what was going on better. He saw it with his magic, the cotton candy pink gas in the air.

He jerked and tried to pull his shirt over his mouth, but that knocked him off balance. He fell onto his side and the world slowly fell with him. Stiles blinked slowly and tried to peer through his hazy eyesight. He turned onto his stomach and tried to crawl some, but something hit him on the back of his head. His eyesight went black.

 

* * *

 

“ _¿Por qué coño tu tenemos un hombre lobo y el mago ambos?_ ” A voice hissed in Spanish. Stiles blinked but the light was too bright for him to open his eyes all the way. He worked on focusing his magic into his head, to clear the fog.

“ _El hombre lobo nos encontró y tuvimos que_ take him _con nosotros_ to avoid _sospechas._ ” A second voice started speaking and Stiles's brain started providing the interpretation to him.

_Why the hell do you have the werewolf and the mage both?_

_The wolfman found us and we had to find him to avoid suspicion._

_Werewolf? Wolfman? Who are they.....?_

Stiles finally opened his an eye and squinted around, looking for the “wolfman”. He found Jackson curled up inside a circle of mountain ash, inside a circle of salt, inside a circle of inscriptions that were to ward off demons, not contain a werewolf. Stiles would have rolled his eyes if he could do that much yet.

“ _No necesitamos el puto hombre lobo! Sólo quería que secuestrar a la bruja!_ ” The first voice yelled angrily.

 _We do not need the fucking werewolf! I just wanted to kidnap the witch!_ Stiles's mind supplied helpfully.

“ _Soy lo siento jefe! No podía contar con él diciendo a los otros diablos._ ”

 _I'm sorry boss! I could not have him telling the other devils._ Stiles opened his eyes a bit more, his head clearing.

“ _No quiero excusas, mierda! Quiero que obtener el resto de los ingredientes que necesita para la tortura. Y no arruinar esto también o se van a arrepentir!_ ” The sound of a hand cracking against something hard sounds throughout the area.

 _I do not want excuses, shit! I want you to get the rest of the ingredients you need for torture. And do not ruin this too or you will regret it!_ Stiles's head snapped up, mind clear now. _Torture._ Torture was not good. Not for him and not for Jackson.

Not that both of them couldn't handle it but that it just sucks ass, and hurts like hell.

“J-jax,” Stiles's tongue was apparently not as awake as his mind, “Jackson,” Stiles whispered.

“Shh,” Jackson replied in a hushed whisper, “he'll hear you.” Jackson hadn't moved at all except to whisper, “Are you okay?”

“I'm not dead yet,” Stiles whispered back.

“Okay, now shush for a second he's coming back into hearing range,” Jackson whispered so softly that if Stiles wasn't magic he might not have heard it.

Stiles went back to how he had been before. His arms were tied to what felt like the side of a stairwell, and his feet were tied to what felt like cinder blocks. He hoped to god that these guys were really that ignorant.

He heard and felt the man walking into the room and walking up the stairs behind Stiles. Muttering curses in Spanish that Stiles has used on numerous occasions himself.

After the door closed there was a few seconds of silence before Jackson spoke up again.

“Okay, the other one is out of hearing range,” He whispered, “Do you have any idea what they're saying?”

Stiles shouldn't tell him, both for his own psychological well being and because Jackson doesn't know that Stiles is fluent in multiple languages. But he should also tell him because Jackson should know what they're facing.

“They didn't mean to kidnap you, but you found them while they were waiting for me. Also, one of them is getting supplies for torture. I don't know whether they are torturing you or me.”

“Yeah I know, but who's this mage that they were waiting for?” Jackson asked quietly but then he, all of a sudden, shushed Stiles, “He's coming.”

The other man started walking into the room, muttering a bunch of curses that Stiles normally didn't use. All the while, Stiles was sitting shocked because of the apparent fact that Jackson was bilingual and understood what the men had been saying.

After the man walked up the stairs and left, Stiles opened his eyes and looked over at Jackson who sat up and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Wait. You said they were waiting for you. But he said that they were trying to capture a mage.”

_Well shit._

“Yeah um.... So you know at lacrosse practice when you shattered my ribs?”

“ _Shattered?_ ” Jackson asked in shock, looking up at Stiles in confusion and disbelief.

“Yeah.... Well, I healed them myself. In a healing trance sort of a thing. That's why they weren't broken this evening.”

“Three days ago,” Jackson corrected, no longer whispering. “It was three days ago.”

“But I-”

“We've been down here for a little more nearly 3 days, Stiles,” Jackson said before sitting all the way up and crossing his arms, “So you're a witch? You've got magic and shit?”

Stiles frowned and took a deep breath, his ribs still hurt some.

“Don't you dare lie to me Stilinski. Not when torture is a possibility on the table of our future,” Jackson said sharply.

“Yeah,” Stiles admitted, hanging his head some, “I've got something called a spark. It makes me a magical being by nature. I don't have to study magic to use it and I have a large supply of magical energy within me. Over 4 times the magical energy that's created by entire coven's of taught witches.”

“And you've been planning on telling the pack when?” Jackson asked, not seeming to be shaken by the fact that Stiles was magical.

“Never if I could swing it. Although I've always wondered whether my other life would catch up to me eventually,” Stiles said honestly, because he knew that Jackson wasn't like Scott, Jackson wouldn't take bullshit. Jackson would respect honesty.

“Other life?”

“I'm a sort of a hero witch....” Stiles said quietly, “The White Fire Witch. I double as a hero and a mercenary depending on if my clients can afford it. I do anything from hunting destructive supernatural creatures to strengthening protection spells to bartering territory lines to teaching classes on magic.” Jackson was nodding and then he shrugged.

“Sounds like you,” He said finally, “So why not tell the pack that you're a... do you prefer witch or mage?”

“I'm a witch. And.... because nobody has ever known. Not Scott, not my dad, my mom only had the slightest suspicions about it. Nobody knew and it felt like too much to tell Scott when he first became a werewolf. And then the pack was kind of formed and everybody thought I was just this human, because of course I taught myself how to hide the smell of my magic from everyone so they'd never know,” Stiles looked up at Jackson with a slight smile, “So I kind of forced myself into a trap. No body could know. Ya know?”

“Besides, if you tell everyone now that you've always been a witch then Erica would probably burn you at the stake, just because you didn't tell her,” Jackson smiled.

“I'm surprised that you're taking it so well,” Stiles commented.

“I've had time to think over it, various members of whoever the hell kidnapped us has been arguing about the wolfman and the witch,” Jackson shrugged, “But now that you're awake, I think we can start working on how to get out of here. Don't you?”

Stiles and Jackson started looking around and thinking up escape possibilities. Stiles was wishing that he had some crystals on him or something. Jackson was internally laughing at the rings surrounding him.

There was a comfortable silence for all of five minutes before Stiles interrupted it to ask Jackson a question that was bugging him.

“Since when can you speak Spanish?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey thanks for reading! Enjoy!


	3. Blue Eyes

“Do you smell that?” Scott asked, standing beside Derek. Derek was looking at the setting moon and sniffing the wind.

“Guys?” Isaac ran up to them, transitioning back into full human form, “I can't find Stiles. Have you seen him?”

“Why were you looking for Stiles?” Derek asked gruffly, “We finished what we needed him for.” Derek crossed his arms and growled deep in his throat. He seemed extra grumpy today.

“I- uh.... Stiles has been acting funny and I kinda.... I've been watching him,” Isaac smelled like shame and he bit his lip, looking down at his feet, “Which I guess, I mean, he kinda got pissed off at us for not minding our own business but.... I've been concerned about a few things and I just....”

“Concerned about what Isaac?” Scott walked over and clasped the base of Isaac's neck, Trying to look Isaac in the eye. Isaac looked up and frowned.

“When was the last time you saw Stiles eat?” he asked softy. Scott opened his moth for a second before shutting it. “Yeah.” Isaac said as if that completely made his point.

“What do you mean by that?” Derek asked sourly, “Stiles eats all the time?”

“Well....” Scott said softly, “He used to. But.... Recently he's taken to leaving during meals. And he's always busy and whenever I ask if he wants to go out to eat, or offer him food, he declines. I thought maybe I pissed him off somehow but.... if Isaac's noticed too?”

“What exactly are you two insinuating? That Stiles isn't eating? That he's got like, what?, anorexia or something? Think about what your saying before you hurt our relationship with Stiles even more.” Derek growled.

“But Derek, _if_ Stiles isn't eating. Isn't it our job to make sure that he's okay?” Isaac offered, “I mean think about it. It all makes sense! Why does he never eat with the pack? Why does he leave during meals at school? He never has food with him anymore. He gets overly irritated at us when we try to get him to go out to eat. And he just yelled at us about not minding our own business. Which Stiles hasn't cared about before. So why does he suddenly care, unless he's hiding something?”

“Derek, I don't want to think this about Stiles,” Scott said softly, “But... what if Isaac's right? Stiles has been acting funny lately and it.... it could be because he's hiding an eating disorder from us.”

Derek growled at them loudly, bordering on a roar, “Then care to explain why, when I went over to his house, there was candy wrappers and food packages and soda cans in his room? Care to explain Stiles's dad talking about dinners that he has with Stiles? It's not an eating issues Scott,” Derek nearly shouted, “It's a pack issue!”

Derek started to stalk away but his phone went off, he yanked it out of his jeans and answered the call, nearly breaking it in his vice grip, “What?!” He growled angrily.

“ _Derek. Lydia and Danny called me,_ ” Erica's voice said softly, “ _They can't find Jackson anywhere. And on top of that, Stiles isn't answering his phone. Its been three days since anyone heard from either of them. So Boyd and I went tracking, starting from Jackson and Stiles's houses respectively. There's no trail from the Stilinski household, oddly enough, but when Boyd and I tracked Jackson's scent from his house, we picked up Stiles's scent on the preserve, near pack lands. Jackson's scent stopped there and we tracked Stiles's scent back to the middle of the preserve. It wutas weird, there was this one spot where Stiles scent seemed to be going in various directions, some of them seemed old but mostly it was really disorienting. And Jackson's scent was no where to be found there. So we're back at the edge of the preserve, where we lost Jackson's scent and picked up Stiles's._ ” Erica finished explaining the situation, “ _What do you want us to do?_ ”

“Wait there,” Derek turned back to his beta's who were silent listening behind him, “Scott, Isaac, and I will come to you and we'll see what we're up against.”

Derek hung up with Erica and looked at Scott and Isaac, “Alright, lets see if we can fix this shit.”

* * *

 

“Well, one thing I can give them is this,” Stiles said when Jackson woke up on day six, this time in silver chains, “They are very good at sigilcraft.” Jackson groaned and stretched as much as he could.

“Can't overpower the sigils?” Jackson asked, rolling his neck to pop it.

“Well, I verbally overpowered the ones that were giving you headaches, but I can't seem to break the others. Especially not mine. I hate to admit it, these guys knew what they were doing when they captured me,” Stiles sighed. Jackson had stubble now, seeing that he was nearly a week without shaving, and if Stiles could feel his face, he's sure that he probably could use a shave too. But his arms are still tied above him.

“I'm surprised that you didn't catch on sooner,” Jackson admitted. Stiles had told him. Everything, every little secret that he had as the White Fire Witch. Stiles nodded and shrugged.

“I've been distracted,” He said softly, “With the hag that Derek had us three investigating, and stealing supplies from Deaton, and not to mention being the WFW,” Stiles sort of shrugged, “Sometimes you have off days.”

“Yeah, well, next time you have an off day, can you remember to not include me,” Jackson sassed. Stiles rolled his eyes. “Ah, here they come for our favorite part of the day.” he said softly.

“Ooh goody!” Stiles said sarcastically, “My flesh was feeling a bit undercooked this morning. Maybe they'll chop me up first for good measure.”

“I think they were thinking about trying to popcorn pop me today,” Jackson said.

A group of seven men walked in, two heading for Jackson and four for Stiles.

“Good morning guys!” Stiles greeted them cheerfully, “What's it today? Boiling water on frozen skin? Water boarding?”

“Aw, you got water boarded?” Jackson said, “I'm jealous, they just stuck with sticking long pins under my nails.” Jackson's face got whipped to the side with a backhand and Stiles got punched in the gut. The both chuckled, Stiles breathlessly.

They were getting pretty used to this.

Later that afternoon, Stiles and Jackson were put back in their restraints.

“Same questions as usual?” Stiles asked tiredly. Jackson groaned, but nodded.

“ _¿Cuál es el alcance del poder de la bruja?_ ” Jackson quoted directly. Stiles huffed a sigh.

“I'm sorry Jackson,” he said after a few seconds. Jackson held his slowly healing side with his hand. He snorted and laid down as best he could.

“I know. Me too. I still just wish we could know why they kidnapped you,” Jackson moaned. Stiles hesitated, the answer to that question weighed heavily on him.

“I know why,” he finally whispered. He looked at the floor directly beneath him. He felt Jackson's gaze on his head.

“What?” Jackson asked as if he hadn't heard him, sitting up.

“I know why they kidnapped me,” Stiles said heavily. He looked up, the exhaustion showing in his face. Jackson looked worried.

“Then why Stiles? Why are they doing this?”

Stiles dropped his head, it felt so heavy all of a sudden. He sighed heavily, before smiling. He smiled like one does when they are trying to hide pain.

“Because they're killing me,” he said softly. He looked up at Jackson and smiled “They're killing me and I can't stop them.”

* * *

 

“Derek!” came a desperate voice. Derek rubbed his sleep captured eyes, “Derek help!”

It was the realization that that was Jackson's voice that jerked Derek awake. Derek jumped out of bed and ran to where Scott and Isaac were already holding Jackson. And god you know that it's an issue if Jackson is still injured.

“Jackson,” Derek stood in front of him, putting a hand on Jackson's shoulder, “What's wrong?” Derek looked around eagerly, “Where's Stiles?”

“Stiles.... Stiles....” Jackson started crying. “Stiles is dead.” Jackson started sobbing, his werewolf eyes showed, and it was bright blue. Derek's heart caught in his throat, “And I killed him.

 


	4. The Reality of It

            Jackson was a mess, Scott was a furious mess, and Derek felt empty. Stiles was dead. What emotion could he feel?

            They got Jackson back to the house and got him some food and took care of some of the injuries that weren't healing. After a time, Jackson had calmed down to just a hollow shell of the emotion he'd been showing when he'd gotten there. So finally he explained what happened.

            “They took me first,” he said, his eyes were dulled as he looked at the pack, who'd responded to Derek's howl of grief, “They were waiting for Stiles on the border of pack lands and the preserve. I'd smelled them and tracked them down, so they knocked me out and took me. When Stiles came they did the same to him. Then, I don't know quite how, but we were taken far away, it smelled like a desert region and I know it wasn't anywhere near here.” Jackson rubbed his arms absently, staring at Derek with a haunted gaze, “It took Stiles nearly three whole days wake up from whatever they put in his system to knock him out. They had him tied up with a special kind of rope, and had these symbols drawn all around him, they put me in a ring of mountain ash and had symbols.... sigils, Stiles had called them, drawn all around me as well.”

            “Why'd they have sigils drawn around Stiles?” Scott interrupted. Jackson just shook his head. He took a shaky breath.

            “They started the torture the next day. They were all Mexican and kept asking me the same question in Spanish over and over again. They hadn't meant to kidnap me initially, but, since they had me there.... What they did to me... it hurt and it didn't heal very easily. But what they did to Stiles was worse,” emotion finally found Jackson again and he choked on his next words, “They didn't ever feed Stiles, just stuck needles in his arm every so often. Stiles tried to convince me that it was something to keep him alive, and I believed him at first.” He let out a sob, “I should have fought him more. Not believed him.”

            Jackson let the sobs wrack his abused body and Derek felt his wolf crying out within him. He felt his heart breaking. Erica shoved her face into Boyd's shoulder from where they were sitting on the couch, and Isaac was standing next to the chair Scott was in and holding Scott's hand to help ground him. Lydia was rubbing Jackson's back and giving Derek concerned looks. Derek wasn't fooled by her motherly nature as he paced the length of the living room, he could see the pain in Lydia's eyes. The aroma of grief was so thick that Derek could taste it. It filled the room like smoke. Jackson cried for a while before forcing himself to continue shakily.

            “They beat him, bruised him, cut him, starved him, burnt him, drowned him, electrocuted him, and all the while, they didn't even ask him any question. They only ever asked me the one question. _¿Cuál es el alcance del poder de la bruja?_ What is the scope of the witch's power,” Jackson hiccuped, “A week went by of this, Stiles and I got a bit used to it. He was weakened by not having any nutrition, whatever they were putting in his body, the torture, and all the while he was working on breaking the sigils that held me in place, only sometimes working on his own, when I was asleep. I don't think I saw him fall asleep once, if he was ever asleep, it was because they'd tortured him bad enough to knock him unconscious. He said that the sigils were too strong for him to break. But... he constantly worked, every moment he was conscious, to break my sigils.”

            “Why couldn't you break them?” Lydia asked softly, confused, Jackson looked up at her, his eyes were red and puffy from crying. Everyone's was.

            “Because they were magic sigils,” he whispered, “only a being with strong magical power could break them.”

            There was silence as Jackson's words sunk in. Isaac was the first to actually think through what Jackson had just implied.

            “Fuck,” Isaac whispered, “Stiles.... Stiles wasn't hiding being anorexic, he was hiding having magic.” Scott let out a sob and pushed his face against Isaac's forearm.

            “Oh god,” he moaned.

            Jackson nodded somberly. “Stiles was a witch,” he said very quietly, “He was an extremely powerful witch too, apparently. He... he saved people's lives, frequently. That's where he always was, when he wasn't with the pack or in class, he was off fighting monsters, or protecting colonies of magical beings. He's been doing small magical stuff like this for a long time I guess, but recently he started to do it more frequently, taking requests and saving lives, and it's caused a drain on his energy and time. But he wouldn't give up.”

            “If he saved lives all the time,” Boyd asked softly, “Then why did these people want him dead?”

            “Because,” Jackson explained, “Stiles saved lives, yes, but he was also a bit of a mercenary. People hired him to do odd jobs, often paying in what Stiles called 'magical currency' which was usually something with magical significance or usefulness. Stiles explained that a while back, he'd been hired by werewolf pack emissary to take care of a small colony of shape-shifters that kept poaching off of pack land. The price they were willing to pay was too high for Stiles to refuse, but he wasn't planning on wiping out the colony. According to him, unfortunately, things didn't go to plan, and he ended up killing several members of the colony who'd stayed behind to protect the retreating colony. The people who kidnapped us were the surviving members of that colony, who were getting revenge on Stiles.”

            “So, these sigils were so powerful that Stiles couldn't overcome them?” Lydia asked. Jackson nodded.

            “Stiles said that they were ancient sigils, ones that probably hadn't been used in centuries, and that one of the sigils could contain beings of lesser magic, but that it required seven groups of seven small sigils to keep his magic contained. Even then, he was able to overpower enough of the lesser ones to be able to affect my sigils which were significantly weaker than his own. Over the days, he was able to break down my sigils until the only barrier even slightly in the way of my escape was mountain ash and the shape-shifters themselves. But I refused to leave without him,” Jackson could feel his emotions boiling up again, though he had no more tears that he could cry, “It wasn't until yesterday that Stiles finally admitted that the shifters were slowly, painfully killing him, and that he had no way of preventing it from happening. This morning, before torture, Stiles told me that he was going to send me home today. I could hear his heartbeat when he was working on the spell to transport me here, it was stopping. I struggled with him, I fought him, tried to get him to stop. But he lit me on fire any way. As I was about to be transported, I looked him in the eye and I heard it, I heard his heart beat stop. I didn't hear it start again as Stiles.... Stiles collapsed. And then I was here.” Jackson stared lucidly at the wall, unable to do anything else, “I was an asshole to him, my whole life. And he saved me, and I killed him.”

            “It's not your fault,” Derek fought with himself to get the words out. He saw a bit of blood on Jackson's hands and pointed to that, “Is that yours? Or Stiles's?”

            Jackson emptily looked back at his hands, he cocked his head at it, “Theirs. Not ours,” he said slowly. He sniffed the blood on his hands, “I had scratched them a few times.”

            Derek looked over at Isaac and Isaac stepped forwards, taking Jackson's hands and getting a deep sniff of the blood. Isaac then sniffed around the air.

            “I'll see if I can track them,” he said softly, “There's a faint trail.”

            “Good. Take Scott, let me know if you cross state lines,” Derek commanded softly, “We'll start in his bedroom and consult Deaton. If-....” Derek closed his eyes, “ _If_ Stiles _is_ dead.... We'll bring him home. But if he's not, there's still a chance that we can save him.”

            Jackson was aimlessly staring at the wall, pain in his eyes. Derek hugged him close. “I'm sorry that you think you killed him,” Derek said softly, “But he may yet be alive. He's strong, Jackson, don't give up on him yet.”

            Jackson nodded vacantly. Derek's wolf whined. But his head snapped up to the pack.

            “Let’s get to work.”

 

* * *

 

 

            _Hello Stiles._

            “Where am I?”

_Within yourself._

            “Who are you?”

            _I'm your spark. I'm_ you, _Stiles._

            “I can talk to my Spark? Do you have a name?”

            T _here is no name you can call me by except your own. I am you._

“Why can't I move?”

            _You already know why, Stiles._

“So, I'm dead? I already talk to myself enough to be clinically insane? How come I can actively hold a conversation with you- me?”

            _You are not dead._

“Fuck. When did I get to be so cryptic? What do you mean I'm- We're not dead?”

            _You are within yourself. That is how you can talk to me._

“So, like a coma?”

            ...

            “Like a coma, right?”

            _If that is the only thing you can relate to this. I suppose I must make you see better._

            “Woah. So not like a coma. I'm just....  It's like a coma and astral projecting and hibernation and a healing trance all in one.”

            _You are wi-_

“Within myself, got that. That's cool. I'm not dead at least. How am I not dead? The poison should have killed me.”

            _You do not yet know my limits. A simple poison could kill someone weaker than me. But I am stronger than that. Therefore, you are stronger than that. I'm only resting for a little while._

“Will the pack find me?”

            …

            “Please... Will the pack find me?”

            _I'm only a spark. I'm not omniscient._

“Please.”

            _Stiles. You don't know if the pack will find you. Therefore, I don't know. I_ am _you._

“If Jackson got back-”

            _He did, and you know that._

            “Then he will tell them I'm dead.”

            _Derek will be heartbroken._

“No.”

            _He's lost the person he most cared about._

“Not true.”

            _But he will never stop caring about you, and he will always look for you._

“No.”

            _He-_

“No.”

            …

            “Derek Hale doesn't care that much about me.”

            …

            “He'll believe Jackson.”

            …

            “No.”

            “He doesn't care.”

            …

            “I have to save myself.”

            …

            “I have to save myself. As per fucking usual.”


	5. Flames and Names

Smoke filled his lungs, and he breathed it in and out like it was normal air. His skin was cracked, and there was an ember glow coming through every crack. His eyes were burning gold, and glowing. Licks of fire danced up his legs and arms, tasting his chest and snapping in the cold night air around him. His hair was flame, and his cracked, dry lips exhaled smoke. He looked up through the burning flames all around him to see people gathering outside the wall of fire. 

Slowly he stood up, hand clenching the wild flame into a solid fireball as he walked, prepared to attack.

“ _ STILES _ ,” a broken cry fought its way through the crackle of the fire. He tilted his head, blinking through the flames at the source of the call. Finally he walked through the last wall of fire, the only item he was wearing that hadn’t burned up was his cape, colored with angry hot embers. 

His vision cleared slightly with the loss of the fire wall, but sparks still danced around the people he was looking at, making it hard to identify. He prepared to launch his fireball, when one of them started walking towards him, arms up in surrender.

“ _ Stiles listen to me, its me, Scott. _ ”

He threw the fireball at him, without hesitation, screaming to warn him off. Smoke billowed from his mouth with his roar. The person he threw the fireball at dove out of the way, in fear.

_ “Stiles!” _ a familiar voice yelled at him and He rounded to face him, fire shot from the cracks in his skin. The person walking towards him confidently seemed familiar. He flared his flames at him with another primitive roar.

“Stiles it’s your pack,” The voice seemed a little clearer. 

His vision cleared, Derek was walking towards him, the rest of the pack behind him. 

“Oh god,” he spoke softly, suddenly he couldn’t breathe, the smoke he was exhaling and inhaling was choking him. He dropped to his knees, weak. Stiles couldn’t breath, his skin, still dry and cracked, no longer bled flames, but actual blood. Stiles grabbed for his throat, he couldn’t breath. He was choking. 

He passed out.

* * *

 

Derek paced in the hospital waiting room. His anxiety was rolling off of him in waves, making an entire waiting room full of people and his pack uncomfortable. The hospital they were in, St. Joseph’s in Artesia, New Mexico, wasn’t very big, but it was the closest they could have gotten to. 

The Sheriff was driving from Beacon Hill to Artesia, but it would probably be another 5 hours till he got there. Scott was in ICU with Stiles, they only allowed him in because he knew the most about Stiles’s medical history. Stiles had already been in the hospital for 3 hours, he’d been moved from the ER to the ICU an hour and a half ago. Derek was going stir crazy already.

At one point, Scott walked out, and over to the pack. He sat down beside Isaac with a thump, eyes wide and glassy. 

“What’s wrong,” Derek asked, worried. Scott looked up at him.

“They’re moving Stiles from the ICU,” Scott said, in shock, “They can’t explain it, but he’s healed up significantly. The burns all over his body, the smoke damage in his lungs, all gone. They’re just treating him for dehydration, malnutrition, some cuts that were infected, and traces of poison in his system, nothing too serious, they say it’s nothing that some antibiotics and a saline flush won’t fix.”

Derek breathed a sigh of relief, and looked over to Jackson. Jackson closed his eyes in relief. 

“Is it his, what did you call it, spark?”

“That’s probably what it is,” Jackson sighed out in relief, “Most of his injuries when we brought him in, I suspect, was fire damage caused by his magic, so maybe it was really his spark, and so it was easy for him to heal from that.”

“That’s exactly what that was,” an unfamiliar voice said from behind the group. Everyone turned to see a tall pale man. This man spoke with a German accent. He was slim, but with some obvious muscle, and was wearing a pale tan suit, he had his long blonde hair pulled up into a bun, and his eyes sparkled like stars. “I wish to introduce myself. My name is Tassarion, I’m a friend of Haldreithen’s....” when his introduction was met with blank stares, he smiled, “I forgot, he doesn’t go by that in your world,” he chuckled, “I’m a good friend of Mieczyslaw’s.”

“Who the fuck is that?” Isaac scoffed. Tassarion, cocked his head, at them.

“Curious... “ He studied them, “You don’t know his name.” Scott cleared his throat, face kind of red.

“He hasn’t gone by Miec-... He goes by Stiles, not that name.” Scott rubbed the back of his neck, “He doesn’t let anyone use that name, he hates it.”

“Ah, I forgot about that! I haven’t used his human name since he was but a child,” Tassarion smiled, “Haldreithen prefers me to use the name we gave him, so I haven’t used his human born name since he was probably 6 human years old.” Tassarion seemed to smile fondly, “You say he goes by Stiles now? That would be a nickname, yes?”

“Who are you?” Derek asked, “And how do you know Stiles?”

“As I said, my name is Tassarion, and I am Haldre- Stiles’s friend. He protects my land by powering the shields that protect my people, he’s been doing it since he was about 12 human years old, but I’ve known him since he was much smaller,” Tassarion, with kind and wise eyes, motioned for them to come with him.  “Here is not the place to discuss this, let us go outside.”

Jackson was the first to get up, followed by Scott, the pack all followed Tassarion outside, where something about him started to shift. Suddenly, his ears started getting a little longer, and pointier.

“I am an elf, and I am part of a colony in Germany, that Stiles has been protecting for 6 years. But as I said, I’ve known him since he was just a small child, with little control over his powers. One day, while I was on guard, I felt a hot energy shift near the western corridors. When I got there, I found a small child, looking scared, and on fire. This child gave off such powerful energy, he nearly glowed. Ripples of his pure magic went through the entire colony, flowers blooming in the middle of the night, lanterns growing in light levels, and gemstones starting to glow. I took him to the colony’s magicians, and they started to teach him. He’d transported there by himself, and had little control, but he was a fast learner. He kept coming back, and at the young age of 8 told us that our wards were practically worthless against anything but young werewolves, and humans, maybe some low level magic users would find it difficult. But it wasn’t for 4 more years till he started doing our wards for us, after he saved the colony from a shapeshifter attack. He and I have been friends since he first came to us, and I know more about his spark and magical energy than most. I felt the power of his spark release, so dark compared to how his spark normally is, and I came as soon as I could get the transportation spell done.”

“Tell us about his spark,” Scott asked, “What is it capable of, is it a danger to him?” Tassarion turned to him sharply, a scoff in his features.

“Stiles’s spark is the most protective spark I’ve ever seen, but even I- nay, even  _ Stiles _ knows not the full amount of power his spark is capable of. I will say, he is the most powerful being I have met in my nearly 3000 years on this earth. His spark is as much a danger to him as it is the only thing that keeps him alive. It his who he is, he and his spark are not, and cannot be separate. It is extremely dangerous, but it is still Stiles. They are the same,” Tassarion said, he looked Derek in the eye. “Are you Derek?” 

“Yes,” Derek said suspiciously. Tassarion smiled and looked him up and down with a smirk.

“I can see why he likes you,” Tassarion murmured, before saying something in elvish, “Your soul is very compatible with his, similar, but just different enough to compliment each other.”

“What do you mean by that?” Derek asked gruffly.

“I can tell you are going to be the hardest to convince though,” Tassarion turned to Erica who was scrutinizing him. 

“Hardest to convince of what?” She asked.

“Stiles needs to heal,” Tassarion said simply, everyone began to roll their eyes but he continued, “He has damaged his soul, and the type of healing he needs to do cannot be done here.”

“How did he damage his soul?” Isaac asked, concerned. Tassarion frowned, troubled.

“Stiles has killed people,” He spoke softly.

“Who were trying to kill him!” Jackson interrupted. Tassarion sighed and looked up at one of the trees outside the hospital.

“Yes, but not only them,” He said sadly. “Or else his energy would not be as dark and toxic as it is right now,” Tassarion looked at Derek and the Jackson, then Scott, “The only time I’ve seen his energy turn dark is when he kills innocent people.”

“Stiles wouldn’t do that,” Erica interferes, crossing her arms with a growl. 

“Not in his right mind he wouldn’t,” Tassarion agreed, “But he wasn’t in his right mind, he was in survival mode, and he was willing to do anything to get back to his pack… Even blowing up a compound without making sure all innocent and pure souls were out of the compound.”

Silence reigned. All the werewolves were processing what was being said. Derek closed his eyes and swallowed. 

“Who were they?” He asked, voice thick. Tassarion looked tired.

“I don’t know for certain, but I’m expecting probably the families of the men who kidnapped him. Innocent women and children probably,” Tassarion said, “People that Stiles would never kill normally, but something tells me, he couldn’t afford the time to transport them to safety or find another way out. I’ve felt such explosive energy in my life, but Stiles needs time and the right space to heal his soul. To purify his energy.”

“How should he do it?” Derek asked. 

“This is the part that none of you are going to like, particularly that blonde beta,” Tassarion admitted, “I’d like to take him to our healing chambers, in our colony.”

“No,” Erica said immediately, “I don’t trust you.” Derek couldn’t help but agree with Erica. He didn’t want Stiles going anywhere. 

Tassarion looked at each of the werewolves, individually, “I would like you to give this pouch to Stiles,” he finally said, handing the pouch to Derek, “And then when he wakes up, that you tell him I came to see him, he knows how to get ahold of me if he decides to come to the purifying chambers. I’m not going to try to take him from you, but if any of you want to come talk to me, I’ll be at the hotel down the road, room 617.” Tassarion bowed deep at the waist and smiled at them before gliding off, his feet landing so lightly that you’d think he wasn’t hitting the ground. 

“I guess I need to go see Stiles,” Derek said softly, remembering what Tassarion had said.  _ Your soul is very compatible with his, similar, but just different enough to compliment each other.  _ “I’ll talk to him about all of this when he wakes up, all of you wait for the sheriff, but go get some food.”

Derek walked into the hospital alone, feeling like he was recovering from getting punched.  _ Your soul is very compatible with his. _ He had a lot to think about, and even more to talk to Stiles about. 

“His name is Mieczyslaw,” Derek suddenly chuckled with the realization, “He’s never gonna hear the end of that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEy I'm nOt DeAd
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, it's rather long compared to the last one, but here we go!


	6. There Are Too Many Emotionally Constipated Characters In This Show For Me To Fix All Of Them Okay? What Do You Want From Me?

_ Wake your lazy ass up. _

“Mmm.”

_ Get up. _

“Hurrrrrrrrr.”

_ Derek’s here. _

Stiles blinked his eyes open, seeing Derek sitting on the chair beside his bed. Derek looked at him and raised an eyebrow, his normal scowl was just a softened look of curiosity. Stiles felt an ache in his back and shoulders as he turned to smile tiredly at Derek. 

“You look like shit, Sourwolf,” Stiles teased, he wasn’t completely lying, Derek looked exhausted, and stressed. Derek rolled his eyes.

“Wait till you see yourself,” Derek crossed his arms gruffly. To anyone else, Derek would have sounded annoyed, but Stiles recognised the soft tones of humor and yet concern hidden in his gruff response. Stiles closed his eyes and took a mental catalog of his injuries. “Jackson told us, everything he knew,” 

“I knew he would,” Stiles said without opening his eyes.

“But you didn’t know you’d make it out alive,” Derek sounded accusing. Stiles opened his eyes, and looked out of the corner of them with exhaustion. 

“You know what that’s like don’t you Derek?” Stiles pointed out, with a tired sigh, “I don’t think you can lecture me on self sacrificial tendencies.”

“That’s not the point and you know it,” Derek growled. Stiles turned to him once more.

“The pack can’t protect me Derek, I’ve been doing this for long enough to know, only luck and my spark can protect me, and sometimes those fail,” Stiles watched as Derek’s face softened, his eyes turned sad as he looked towards the door.

“That’s still not the point,” he said softly, “I know I’m the last person who should lecture you on secluding yourself. But maybe if you had told us, we could have been there for you, instead of frustrating you and making you go off on your own.” Stiles realized with a sad sigh what the point was.

“It’s not your fault Derek. They would have come for me, whether I had told you all, or not. If I had spent the night at the pack meeting and walked home, they still would have attacked,” Stiles went straight for the heart of the matter, “It would have prevented Jackson from getting kidnapped, possibly, but it would have put the whole pack at risk, and you know that.”

“But why-” Derek caught himself getting worked up and paused, taking a breath, “Why didn’t you trust us?” Stiles smiled sadly, his brown eyes had such deep emotion in them and he sighed. 

“Listen to my heart beat and look into my eyes,” Stiles requested, rolling onto his side just enough to see Derek more, “I trust the pack. I trust you. I trust you all to take care of me, and to take care of everyone important to me. I trust you all so much.” Derek listened to his steady, honest, heartbeat. “But in the end, I didn’t tell you all, because I got backed into a corner and I couldn’t get out of it easily. You all believed I was something, and I let you believe it. It… it was easier than having to break down my past of lies. It was selfish. My secret, it was the only privacy I had left, the one thing I had to myself. And honestly, that’s all it was, selfishness.” 

_ Blip _

Derek noticed the lie, and looking into Stiles eyes, Stiles knew he had. But Stiles saw Derek studying his face, concern etched into his features. “Just,” Derek said slowly, “Promise me that when you’re all better, you’ll tell me the truth.” Derek looked so serious and Stiles swallowed hard. 

“I promise, I’ll tell you the truth.” Stiles promised solemnly. Derek actually smiled a little bit before suddenly looking like he forgot something.

“Ah, a uh, a friend of yours stopped by. Brought you this,” Derek handed him the bag, Stiles took it and opened it, “Said his name was Tassa something. He was an elf from Germany I think.”

“Tassarion,” Stiles smiled and pulled out a clear crystal, holding it to his chest, “he came to convince you all to let him take me back, I assume? For a soul cleanse?”

“Yes,” Derek furrowed his eyebrows, “How did you know that?”

“Because you’re the one I woke up to, and you’re the one who handed me this, not Scott,” Stiles said sleepily.

Derek was about to question it when a nurse walked in and, seeing Stiles was awake, started gushing about Stiles being a miracle. Once she’d done that for a while, she cataloged his vitals and informed him and Derek to what treatments they had left before they let him leave. As soon as she left, Scott and Erica were peeking around the doorway. Stiles waved them in and the whole pack piled into the room to talk to him. 

Ten minutes later, Stiles was asleep again and Derek was confused. He pretended he didn’t see that the clear crystal had started to fill up with something that looked like smoke. 

* * *

 

Derek sat by Stiles’s side, sometimes a pack member would come in, just needing to see Stiles doing well. Jackson came in just to hear Stiles’s heartbeat, he stood at the end of the bed, watching Stiles sleep. His face was scrunched in turmoil, emotions passing through his expression at 100 per minute. Derek didn’t say anything. He wasn’t really close to Jackson, the guy got on his nerves most of the time, despite being a member of the Hale/McCall pack. But this time Derek put a steadying hand on his arm. Jackson just nodded silently, he reached down to touch Stiles’s leg, squeezing his ankle as if to assure himself that Stiles was there. 

“He thought I hated him for years. Hell,  _ I _ thought I hated him. I was just…. I had anger issues a-and was internalizing a bunch of stuff,” Jackson took a deep breath, “I bullied him a lot. I just… I didn’t really understand why.” He looked up at Derek, “Stiles and I grew up together, Scott came into the picture around 2nd grade, but Stiles and I were friends in preschool and kindergarten. 2nd grade rolled around and Scott moved here with his parents. He was quirky and had a nerf dart gun, Stiles loved him immediately. I couldn’t bring myself to hate Scott back then, even though he stole my friend away. Stiles and I still hung out, but it was always either with Scott or talking about Scott. I began to resent their friendship. It took several years, but Stiles and I stopped hanging out. By middle school, we both moved on. As I got popular and Stiles and Scott got lower on the totem pole, I started to hate the concept of the two of them even more. I started taking it out on Stiles then. Scott was nothing to me. But my anger issues targeted Stiles, as if he was to blame for my issues. It wasn’t until after I turned into a kanima that I realized how shitty I was being to Stiles. And I hadn’t really told anyone but Lydia, and one time Stiles, but I’ve been going to anger management and seeing a therapist. And it just occurred to me that I never said sorry for the years of shit that I gave Stiles, just because he became friends with someone in 2nd grade.”

Jackson and Derek stared at each other for a few seconds before Derek finally spoke, “I always assumed you had a thing for him and was dealing with homophobia at home and took it out on him.” Jackson contemplated it for a second looking back at the unconscious spark.

“Maybe I did. I remember when he had his thing for Lydia, while I was dating her, and I was really mad at both of them. I’m not even sure now whether that was because I didn’t want Stiles to have Lydia, or whether it was because I didn’t want Lydia to have Stiles,” Jackson shrugged, “I still don’t know what all was going through my head. But…. I need to tell Stiles face to face sometime.”

Jackson turned to Derek with a sniff and found the man focused on Stiles, stubbornly not looking anywhere else. Jackson smiled to himself.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “Stiles deserves much better than me, even if I do or did feel that way about him.” He gave Derek a meaningful look before squeezing Stiles’s ankle and leaving again. 

Derek didn’t move, looking at Stiles’s sleeping form. He thought about all the things he needed to say to the skinny boy. All the confessions to give and apologies to make. He can’t afford to wait much longer, who knows what might attack next.

When the sheriff got there, Derek took a long walk to think things through. 

He and Stiles had a lot to talk about.


	7. Fireworks

Stiles’s trip to Germany didn’t last long, mostly because the Sheriff told him that if he was gone for  too long, he’d find him and kill him. Stiles had just laughed, kissed his father on the cheek and gone to say goodbye to the pack.

The two day journey was made better by the fact that Derek went with. It was the only way that Erica and the Sheriff were going to let him out of Beacon HIlls. They both made that pretty clear…. Well his dad had just insisted on someone going, not Derek specifically, but he’d given a pointed look at Derek. 

Derek had seemed a little uncomfortable with the fire transportation, which made Stiles wince, remembering how many bad things happened to Derek which were related to fire. He just patted Derek’s arm comfortingly and headed down the familiar walk in the Elven Kingdom. Several elves bowed their heads to him in respect as they walked past. A few of them gave Derek small smiles and small bows of his own. 

“Haldriethen,” Tassarion’s voice called from a doorway ahead. Stiles opened his arms to the tall elf. 

“Tassarion,” Stiles greeted the elf with a brotherly hug. “This meeting is much more interesting than our last, no?”

“You joke too much, Haldriethen,” Tassarion crossed his arms, an unimpressed look on his face. 

“That he does,” Derek mumbled from behind Stiles. Tassarion laughed at that and greeted Derek with a nod.

Stiles rolled his eyes and muttered, “Drama queen.” Derek glowered at the back of the Sparks head. “Is everything ready?” Stiles turned to Tassarion. The elf nodded before looking nervously at Derek.

“I regret to inform you, Derek Hale is not allowed in the chambers, a long time ago we put mountain ash in the walls to prevent a nearby, at the time hostile, werewolf pack from entering the sacred chambers, in case of attack,” Tassarion smiled at Derek pacifyingly, “Nothing against werewolves as a species, it was a tense situation.”

Derek nodded in understanding, “Some wolves are not as peaceful as others. But not all wolves are violent. I understand.” Tassarion silently nodded his thanks to Derek for understanding, before moving to the side for Stiles to enter. “Hey, Derek grabbed Stiles arm before he could get out of reach. Stiles turned back to him, confused. 

Suddenly the words he wanted to say choked him.  _ “I love you, I’ll see you soon.” _ refused to come out of his mouth. “Don’t catch the whole kingdom on fire,” Derek said before turning and stalking off, angry at himself. 

He could hear the uptick in Stiles’s heart as he walked away.

“Let’s begin,” Tassarion said softly. Derek glowered away.

Stiles was gone for the whole afternoon and evening. In fact it wasn’t until 5am when some Elves carried his sleeping form out of the sacred chamber and into the room they’d given Derek to sleep in. Derek woke up from his dozing immediately and was up on his feet. 

“Is he okay? That took a long time.” Derek growled at the elves who laid Stiles on the bed. Tassarion put a hand on Derek’s arm, to calm him. It only irritated Derek further, who growled at the elf and went to Stiles’s side. 

“Your soulbond is healthy, you know that he’s fine. The original damage to the purity of his spark was worse than we thought, but it has kickstarted healing. He only needs to sleep now and he will be fine.”

Derek didn’t have time to question the elf before all of them who’d brought Stiles in bowed out. He was left in the room with an unconscious Stiles and a shit ton of question.

“What the fuck is a soulbond?” he asked out loud.

 

* * *

“Are you going to keep stalking me or are you going to come inside,” Stiles called out his window. Derek’s head popped up from behind the backyard fence, the usual unimpressed look on his face. He backflipped over the fence, which had Stiles muttering “Fuckin drama queen,” and proceeded to jump up onto the roof beside Stiles’s window. He crouched next to the window.

“I heard that.” He crossed his arms.

“You were supposed to, Fluffy, now get in here,” Stiles ducked his head back into his room and motioned for Derek to follow. 

“How’d you know I was out there,” Derek stood to his full muscle mass, glaring at Stiles.

“I’m magical, and you’re predictable, and also not intimidating so stop that,” Stiles rolled his eyes before plopping down in one of the chairs in his room. “Whatcha doing Derek?”

“Just…. Checking in.” Derek looked away and crossed his arms.

“Why?” Stiles asked simply, “You know that I can protect myself.” Derek rolled his eyes.

“Erika wanted me to,” he bit out.

“Liar. Erika stalked me a couple hours ago and you know that, I’m sure you smelled her,” Stiles pointed out crossing his arms defiantly. Derek huffed and turned to head out the window.

“Listen buddy, are we really gonna do his “I’m gruff so I can hide my emotions” bullshit?” Stiles confronted him. Derek glared at him. 

“I don’t do that.”

“Bull fucking shit, you’re doing it right now!” Stiles yelled. Derek huffed again and looked away. “Derek,” Stiles tried softly. Derek’s head hung a little bit. “What’s wrong.”

“You’re my…. Soulbond?” Derek sounded scared, “And you’re also a magical being and I never knew? I just- what if I lose you?”

“You won’t,” Stiles tried to comfort him. This time Derek called him out.

“Liar, you know that you can’t promise that,” Derek said roughly. Stiles stood up and walked up to face him.

“Der, I can promise that I’ll try and make sure it never happens. As for us being Soulbonds, you seem to be handling that well.”

“I broke a few punching bags earlier,” Derek deadpanned. Stiles laughed. 

That was what broke Derek, that laugh. Not a nervous chuckle or cocky snorts. A genuine joyful laugh. He rushed forward and grabbed Stiles on either side of his face, pulling him in for a kiss. Stiles’s laughter was swallowed by Derek and as quick as he processed what was happening, he returned the kiss with interest. 

“You drive me nuts,” Derek said in between rushed kisses. He pulled back long enough to get out, “And you drive me up a wall.” 

“I’m a great driver,” Stiles returned before Derek took over his mouth again. Stiles reached his arms up and got a hand on Derek’s back, in between the shoulder blades where the Triskelion tattoo is, and got one hand in Derek’s short hair. He crowded his body into Derek’s. 

A weird, hot, mixture of a growl and a moan escaped Derek and Stiles returned one with gusto. Derek removed a hand from Stiles’s face and moved it to his hip instead. He squeezed Stiles’s hip and pulled him closer.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” Stiles asked breathily in between kisses.

“Do we need to?” Derek replied, not quite as breathily. 

“We,” Stiles kissed Derek for a long moment, “probably should.” he finished his sentence with biting Derek’s lip gently. Derek moaned and then used, what Stiles hoped was, all of his self control to pull back.

“What do you want to talk about?” Derek asked, looking between Stiles’s lips and his eyes. Stiles mourned the loss of kissing, but knew that this needed to be done. 

“Is this a one time thing, a slow thing, or a ‘We’ve put this off for too long’ thing? Or what? What is this to you?” Stiles asked, taking the tiniest of steps back so he could see Derek’s whole face better, while still holding on to his hair. 

“I don’t want this to be one time, you’re too important for that,” Derek said honestly, “As for taking it slow? That’s all up to you, I won’t pressure you either way. To me, this…. This is just what’s right?”

“It’s that for me too,” Stiles whispered, it took a second of staring into each others eyes, both pairs intense in their own way, before Stiles kissed him again, a little slower. He backed up slowly till his calves hit the bed frame, he pulled gently at Derek and Derek kissed him hard before releasing so they could get into a comfortable position on the bed. 

Derek straddled him, leaning down to kiss him from where he sat on Stiles’s hips. Stiles pulled gently on Derek’s hair, not hard enough to cause pain, just enough to send a message. Derek changed directions, kissing at the moles on his cheek and then finding his jawline. He didn’t suck hard enough to leave hickeys, knowing that he and Stiles would have to talk about how and when to tell everyone before Stiles would be comfortable with visible marks. 

“Mmm,  _ Der _ ,” Stiles moaned when Derek scraped his teeth against the the space underneath the jawline and the ear. The smell was the best part, the arousal, the happiness, pure joy, even a hint of love. The autumn campfire smell that Derek can tell is part of Stiles’s magic. Stiles’s hand, that wasn’t tangled in Derek’s hair, bluntly scratched at his back and Derek  felt the heat of his fingertips. It felt like small, pleasant, electrical currents on his back.

Derek inhaled right behind Stiles ear, taking in the pure smell of him, before kissing down his neck towards where Stiles’s t-shirt was far too high on his neck for Derek’s liking. He paused, tugging at the shirt gently while looking at Stiles. Stiles nodded and Derek shifted back enough for him to sit up and take off his shirt. 

“Hey hey,” Stiles stopped him from going back to what he was doing, “It’s only fair,” Stiles tugged on Derek’s black t-shirt. Derek rolled his eyes, but obliged, sitting back up to take off his shirt. 

“I knew you’d be high maintenance,” Derek joked. Stiles grinned

“Oh, you sitting there with that body and you call me high maintenance,” Stiles laughed. Derek rolled his eyes, looking down at Stiles’s chest he lightly brushed his fingers over it.

“I’m a werewolf, its natural. You on the other hand….. Should stop wearing so many layers,” Derek leaned down and kissed one of Stiles’s collarbones before scooting down to kiss one of his pecs. Stiles chuckled, but it died when Derek kissed around his nipple. “Is this okay?” Derek breathed out. 

“Fuck,  _ yes.” _ Derek felt Stiles’s hips lift off the mattress a little, of their own accord. He grinned and moved down even further on Stiles’s body, kissing down his ribs and stomach. His fingers brushed the waistband of Stiles’s jeans and he stopped to look up at Stiles’s.

“Is this too fast?” he asked, he could smell Stiles. He could hear the heartbeat, feel the heat. Stiles, pupils blown wide and mouth open, nodded, breathing out his permission. 

Derek pulled on the button, then the zipper. He lifted Stiles’s hips easily with one hand. Using the other pulled the jeans off. Gently he leaned down and kissed the inside of Stiles’s thighs. He smelled and tasted so good. 

Here. Here he left a mark. Sucking just hard enough to leave a hickey. The noises Stiles was making and the beat of his heart was driving Derek wild. 

Pleasuring Stiles was like being able to experience all the good things that Derek never realized he had. The taste of him, the weight of him, the smell, the heat. All of it, was like an experience Derek had never been able to have before. Something pure, untainted, and joyful. Derek felt the taste of him on his tongue, and he knew that he’d love this taste forever. And when Stiles climaxed, something amazing happened. All around the room, little beams of sparklers lit up, not catching anything on fire, just expressing the fireworks in Stiles’s head. 

Derek felt the same when Stiles returned the favor.

In the morning, Derek woke to a muttered “About damn time,” from the Sheriff, and a quickly closing door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses.

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! Enjoy!  
> Here's a rough version of the Latin to English translations in chapter 1:  
> I know your curse, To lose strength, Blessed art thou now Luna, He is no longer immortal.  
> and then:  
> To limit the pain away, It is your body, and the soul is the given price of the product. Your human soul I will give you, the price of the Moon, for Hades to give you Elysium.


End file.
